


A Friend Indeed

by iwouldgetaniguana



Category: Gundam SEED, Gundam SEED Destiny
Genre: Crack-ish, Dearka is perceptive apparently, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Post-Gundam SEED Destiny, but also kinda not
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-01
Updated: 2016-06-01
Packaged: 2018-07-11 16:10:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7059814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iwouldgetaniguana/pseuds/iwouldgetaniguana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dearka was never sure how the I-shot-down-an-escape-pod-full-of-your-citizens situation was resolved, but now, five years later, whenever Lacus sent them to Orb on diplomatic missions, Dearka found himself accompanying Yzak to the Athha Manor for honest-to-god social calls.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Friend Indeed

Dearka would never forget the day Yzak found out the escape pod he’d shot down chasing the Strike had contained civilians, not soldiers:

Cagalli had left the Archangel’s conference room, looking, for the first time, like a leader, and Yzak had stayed where he was, looking, for the first time, defeated.

Dearka had turned to Andy with a silent question.

“They resolved it between them,” his old commander had said, patting his shoulder. “Best leave it at that.”

But “leaving it at that” was not what Dearka called it when, five years later, here he was at the Athha Manor, following his best friend up the familiar steps.

More like “an oncoming apocalypse”.

Because he wasn’t sure how it had gone from “resolving it between them” to honest-to-god _social calls_ , but he did know that it had involved:

“You _shot_ Athrun?”

“Well, he’ll tell you that I missed, but he bled, dammit, so I’m right. Just check his arm for the scar! He never bothered to get rid of it.”

And;

“He _fell asleep_? With you _right there_? I always knew he was dimwitted, but how could he let himself be threatened with his own weapon?”

“I know, right? What a moron.”

And;

“So he aims again and almost hits the instructor! Hah! He got latrine duty for a week for that.”

“And you said he graduated top of his class? How did he manage _that_?”

 – which he had watched over a cup of impractically amazing coffee, sneaking glances at the look of ultimate despair spreading over Kira’s face as one of the orphanage’s little tykes tried unsuccessfully to drag him away from his sister’s conversation to play.

“Yzak,” Cagalli called now as he walked through the door. She was dressed in a casual suit, her hair let down like the old days. Athrun stood behind her, predictably decked out in his Admiral uniform.

“Your limo driver is slipping,” Yzak responded. “He was five minutes late picking us up.”

Cagalli ignored him and turned to Dearka. “Good to see you again,” she smiled, and he grinned back. “How was your trip?” A butler took their coats.

“Pretty smooth, for a couple of war veterans,” Dearka said before Yzak could respond, and Yzak’s mouth shut with a tight snap.

“Coffee?” Cagalli inquired, leading the way to the parlour room.

“Of course, thank you,” Yzak replied, as polite as he ever got, and followed her.

“Nah, I’m alright,” said Dearka, hanging back and enjoying the feeling of mischief that only seemed to resurface in him around these people. “You kids have fun.”

“Athrun?” Cagalli inquired.

“No thanks, Cagalli.”

Dearka had to hide his smirk, remembering the identical looks of utmost distain Yzak and Cagalli, who both favoured their coffee intolerably strong, had a tendency to give Athrun whenever he added copious amounts of milk and sugar to his.

“Alright, then keep Dearka entertained, would you? And you,” she added, pointing at Dearka. “Don’t annoy my staff.”

Dearka turned to Athrun as Cagalli marched into to the parlour, Yzak in tow. “Don’t you just love it when our Chief Representative lets the niceties be damned and reverts back to her old cantankerous self?”

Dearka was teasing, but seeing the instant of pain that shot across Athrun’s face, he’d also been right.

“She doesn’t do it very often. Usually just for Kira, Mu, and you two.” Athrun looked down, an open book as always (at least there were some things that never changed).

Dearka paused, but tact had never been his forte: “We left,” he said, hoping his smile was not too self-depreciating. “We left, and then wanted to come back. That requires forgiveness, no matter how good our reasons for leaving.”

Athrun blinked at him. “You’re not actually back with Miriallia, though.”

“Yeah,” Dearka chuckled, unfortunately one hundred percent sure it was now self-depreciating. “Yeah, that’s a problem, too.”

“And I didn’t actually end my relationship with Cagalli,” Athrun pointed out, cheeks pink as he looked back at the floor. “She’s the one who took off the ring.”

“Right,” Dearka drawled, “because _you_ handled the war _so_ well.”

Athrun’s cheeks turned pinker.

“Look,” Dearka sighed, putting his hands in his pockets, “you of all people should know this – she couldn’t use guns to get her way anymore, and, well, we all kind of sucked at that, at the time. Marrying Yuna was the only thing she felt she could do for her people. She did the best she could, with no one there to help her.”

Shame flooded Athrun’s face, and whoops, Dearka had meant her father, but, well, what Athrun had heard was true too.

An awkward moment stretched before Athrun got out, “E-even after that, though. Once she left the Archangel again. I thought we had time to fix it, but....” Athrun looked away.

“You do,” Dearka put a solid hand on his friend’s shoulder. “But first,” he added sagely. “You must suffer.”

A, “and what would you know about it?” came snarling suddenly from behind the parlour doors, and Dearka knew that both of its occupants would now be standing, fists clenched and eyes glaring at one another. “You wouldn’t even be leader of this damn country if you didn’t use your father’s name in every other public speech!”

“Oh! Says the quintessential Mama’s Boy!” snapped the other voice.

Aw, hell. Not this already.

Athrun checked his watch. “Five minutes,” he noted. “That’s pretty quick. Is there something bothering him?”

Dearka sighed. “His and Shiho’s parents are starting to get insistent on the whole marriage thing.”

“I see.”

For a moment, the voices in the other room were muffled by slamming sounds, fists on wood, and then, “Well it’s not like you could do any better!”

“This coming from the woman who ran out on her own wedding for a defecting pretty-boy with a suicide compulsion!”

“I was _kidnapped_!”

Dearka tried to hold in his laughter.

Athrun went red again and grumbled, “Do they have to bring me up every time?”

_Probably_ , Dearka thought. He also thought that if Athrun ever figured out how important he was to those two, Dearka’d have to eat his hat. Or someone’s hat, anyway. “Look at it this way – the more they get off their chests yelling at each other, the easier it is for the rest of us to deal with them.”

Athrun grimaced. Dearka imagined that Athrun waiting for Cagalli to come to him for counsel and comfort was probably rather like Dearka himself stretching out on the couch in Yzak’s office with a comic book while Yzak worked through a pile of paperwork and never said anything except ‘isn’t there any more coffee?’, and so he knew there was little else he could do except stand here with Athrun in silent solidarity.

“I never thought they’d be friends,” Athurn said at last, barely audible over Cagalli’s, “then go talk to _Lacus_ , you asshat!”

“Really?” Dearka countered. “I knew from the moment I met our little spitfire that she and our favourite constipated stick-in-the-mud would get along swimmingly.” At Athurn’s raised eyebrows, he continued, “It’s gotta be hell, wanting to yell at everything all the time and not having anyone around who can dish back everything they’re served.”

There was the sound of glass breaking, then abrupt silence.

Dearka went to the parlour door and cracked it open. “Is everyone still alive?”

“Of course, you idiot.” Yzak was sitting, legs crossed and pinky in the air as he sipped his charcoal-black coffee.

Cagalli, less poised with her arm over the back of her chair, was also drinking from her cup. She waved a hand at Dearka. “Stop being such a fusspot.”

“Right,” Dearka drawled, noting the broken coffee-pot on the floor, seeping its beleaguered contents into the rug. But neither of the room’s occupants were paying it any mind, so Dearka retreated as Cagalli began again, her tone collected and polite, “As I was saying, political marriages are always a shitfest, that can’t be helped, but – ”

Dearka closed the door again and turned to Athrun, who had a hand to his face in exasperation, and he couldn’t help it: “Well, it’s not like your relationship with _your_ best friend didn’t have its share of blow-ups.”

**Author's Note:**

> I always always wanted Cagalli and Yzak to be friends. I have a friend-shipping problem. That is why I wrote this. And then I added some closure for good measure. Or, well, the opportunity for closure? I am still awaiting that damn movie...
> 
> This is un-betaed, so if any parts were confusing, please let me know! Any constructive criticism is appreciated.


End file.
